


Confrontation, Acceptance

by pondili



Series: The Life and Times of Diego Fasset [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: (But that's not mentioned in this fic), (There's also physical abuse), Humanstuck, M/M, Manipulation, PSA: Die has a stutter and that's why he keeps repeating the first letters, Second time writing Droog in a fic, So don't slaughter me if he's a little ooc, There's a difference between nervous stuttering and speech impediment stuttering, psychological abuse, unhealthy dynamic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 11:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12933939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pondili/pseuds/pondili
Summary: Dull, narrow eyes set on a twitchy young man, Droog sat up a little. He awaited a response from the nervous male. The boy in question was standing across from him, body cocked at an angle from which indicated that he had frozen from agitated pacing. His own owlish green eyes returned the stare, before his confidence cracked and they darted to the opposing man's wine glass instead.To the finger. Going around and around, as the hands of a clock would circle the face.Die wondered offhandedly if that metaphorical clock was counting down to his demise.





	Confrontation, Acceptance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [divineyoungho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/divineyoungho/gifts).



> ahhhh first fic lol  
> i originally wrote this as a little trade with my friend (who i gifted it to) but smh they never wrote their fuckin fic!!!!  
> jk im not mad lmao  
> its rlly hard shipping something like droogdie bc there is next to nothing for it  
> like literally this is the sixth droogdie fic on this website  
> i have found a grand total of 12 pieces of art for this hellship and that needs 2 change  
> there is a huuuuuge fuckin power imbalance in this version of droogdie  
> that might be due to the fact that diego is 23 in this (hes 24 rn as im writing this note lol his bday is 13th nov) and droog is somewhere in his mid to late thirties  
> its not a good fucking relationship at all and im in no way ever saying this is a good thing!!!  
> abuse is awful and no one ever deserves that pain  
> anyway i hope yall enjoy this ig

"You don't get to give up."

The phrase was cold and laced with poison. Each word felt like a dagger through the skin and sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Yet the sentence was recited as if the words meant nothing at all to the speaker. His tone was bored. Burdened even, with having to talk at all.

Droog's body language was loose, casual, however, it was clear that each movement was deliberate or even rehearsed. His limbs were set in place, at particular angles that may or may not have been calculated to best showcase an air of condescending indifference. Folks speculated that often - if you concentrated hard enough and didn't falter - you could see the cogs turning behind his eyes. Going around and around.

Just like his right index finger was - around the rim of his wine glass.

Dull, narrow eyes set on a twitchy young man, Droog sat up a little. He awaited a response from the nervous male. The boy in question was standing across from him, body cocked at an angle from which indicated that he had frozen from agitated pacing. His own owlish green eyes returned the stare before his confidence cracked and they darted to the opposing man's wine glass instead.

To the finger. Going around and around, as the hands of a clock would circle the face.

Die wondered offhandedly if that metaphorical clock was counting down to his demise.

A single word slipped past chapped lips, "What?"

A dry smile crossed Droog's face, though it held no emotion and could be equalled to his empty eyes. Die swallowed.

"You don't get to give up," Droog repeated, using the same deadly yet disinterested tone as before.

"I don't-" Die cut himself off suddenly, preventing a stuttering mess of overlapping phrases with no order or structure from slipping past his lips. A pink tongue lapped at them before he tried again, hands clenched into tight fists to stop his shaking. He hoped it hid his fear. It didn't.

"Wh-what do you- do y-y-y-" Breath caught in his throat. He closed his mouth, hummed, then tried again. "-you mean? I-I can g-g-give, give, give up any-" He ground his teeth together. A knuckle popped. "-any t-t-t-time I want. I can.. go b-b-back to the- to the manor, nnnnever come back." Eyes darted to the wine glass.

Around and around, the finger went.

"I can l-l-l-l-" Breath sped up. Then slowed down. Calm down, he told himself. "-leave, forget any of-" Waving a hand jerkily, he took a step forward. "-of this ever hhhhhappened."

The circulating finger halted. Die squeaked but stood his ground. Probably frozen in fear rather than determination. The void smile had faded from Droog's face. He sat there thinking for a moment, vaguely amused. The boy in front of him, the one that had ceased his pacing after saying those transparent words - "Y-you can't, you can't keep d-d-d-doing this. Making out like- like I mmmean something, something t-t-to you and th-then... God! I ffffucking give up!" - and was now trying in vain to make them mean something.

Droog set the glass down on the coffee table. He stood.

Die held his ground.

"That's the thing with you, Die." Droog took slow and unthreatening steps, but Die knew better and gritted his teeth to hide his nervousness. "You could. You could leave here and leave me, return to your colleagues and never come back. There's nothing keeping you here. I'm not holding you hostage."

Droog was now a mere few feet away. With another step, he was even closer. The other refused to back down, however, with every passing moment, he was coming closer and closer to breaking into pieces. Internally, Droog laughed at Die's vulnerability. Externally, that dull and bored expression didn't even flicker.

Opening his mouth to protest, Die was silenced by more harsh words. "I'm all you have, Die. We both know it. The Felt only want you for your skill and ability, which you are already lacking thereof. It would be a minor inconvenience to them if you died." Cheeks felt hot and water gathered behind those saucer-like green eyes. Droog continued. "You need me. I'm willing to pay time to you. They are not. If you leave, you'll be alone again."

Another dry smile passed the taller's lips as Die began to back up. Pressing forward, Droog didn't stop until Die's back hit the wall. The boy let out an audible choking noise. "So yes, while you could leave whenever you please, you won't. Not unless you want to return to aching loneliness for the rest of your sorry life."

The floodgates opened. While the water trickled out slowly at first, soon Die's dark cheeks were stained with tears and he was sobbing, collapsed against the wall. Suddenly arms were wrapped around him and he was being held against a lean figure, and gently guided back to the couch in which Droog had been previously sat. The man settled down on it and carefully pulled Die up onto his lap, allowing the young man to bury his face in Droog's neck and cry until there were no more tears to be shed.

Still as seemingly disinterested and calm as ever - and with a placid expression plastered on his face - Droog cradled Die to him and planted a kiss on the boy's forehead. He retrieved the wine glass and once again he ran his finger around the smooth rim.

Around and around for the rest of the night, one which held a sombre tone of quiet acceptance.

Awful, horrific acceptance.


End file.
